My Kind Of Crazy
by Stucky's-Best-Girl
Summary: Emily is an asylum patient when Sam is admitted while he was being tormented by Lucifer, as you know an asylum isn't the of place where you get to make new friends everyday and Emily is always up for drawing a new face. (Her backstory is further explained in the second chapter please R&R)
1. Chapter 1

**Wow I haven't posted in a long time, well I hope you guys like this, there'll be more about the OC's backstory in the next chapter please enjoy and review.**

I scribbled in my sketch book mindlessly, admiring how the lines and shapes became people I knew and places I wanted to see. Drawing could make me forget anything, even a place like this. A scream from several doors down made my hand twitch, sending a crooked scratch across my paper. I sighed and tried to erase it, wishing life was as forgiving as art. A knock on the door made me jump.

"Emily, it's time for your medicine." I clapped my book shut and shoved my pencils under my pillow before scampering up onto the covers. A woman entered with a metal tray in her hands, a kind smile splayed across her face. She slowly approached, sitting down in front of me and resting the tray beside her. She smelled like antiseptic and burnt coffee.

"Hi Bertha," I greeted looking down at my feet,

"How are you feeling today sweetie?" she asked handing me a tiny cup containing two colored pills, one orange the other blue, I emptied the pills in my hand, tossing them back and accepting the water from her

"I'm good," I mumbled not taking my eyes off my white hospital bracelet as she removed the plastic covered meal from the tray and put it on my table

"You need anything else?" she asked shifting her head slightly so she could see my face

"May I have some more pencils?" I asked sheepishly as I traced circles on my leg

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves hon, you know I'm not supposed to be giving you those in the first place," she said calmly, I gave her a small nod, she sent another pitiful smile my way before getting up and leaving. Once she was gone I quickly removed the pills hidden in my collar and tossed them in the cup I had hidden behind my lamp, I had quite the little collection growing there, I didn't need drugs, I needed someone to listen to me and believe my story.

* * *

Later that evening I wandered down the lobby, sketchbook tucked under my arm and my pencils hidden in my sleeve. I eavesdropped on a couple of those who talked to themselves, watched a man lose against himself in chess, looking for something to draw, crazy people were always the most fun to draw. Simply because they never hid anything, they were just...them, they don't pretend. They just are what they are. Look into an insane person's eyes and tell me you don't see every secret they hold just staring back. Graphite stained my hands as I lingered in a corner just drawing portraits.

"Did you hear about the new guy?" Jamie was talking to her husband, she killed him three years ago, but she didn't know that, she believed they resolved all of their issues and were friends now, "They say he's in here because he hears voices, I know crazy right?" I perked up a bit but stayed out of sight "He's real young, scruffy lookin' guy. Says the devil talks to him," I was now leaning forward in curiosity, this wing didn't get newcomers very often, and I was always on the prowl for a new face to sketch "He's right down the corridor in room nine," I quickly gathered my things and headed down to room nine.

When I got there I saw someone sitting on the bed, I couldn't see much because his back was turned to me but what I could render from what I did see was like Jamie described him he was scruffy, had long brown hair. He was holding his head and rocking back and forth like he was inside a ringing church bell, trying to lock out the sound. He calmed down a minute later his hands dropping as his shoulders drooped slightly from exhaustion.

"You can come in you know," his voice came quietly, it was gravelly, hints of tiredness lacing it, I froze in fear, not knowing if he was talking to the voice inside his head or me, "You don't have to stand there, you can come in," I slowly stepped toward him as he turned so I could see his face, I stifled a gasp, he was gorgeous.

"I-I'm Emily," I raised a pencil covered hand slightly. He struggled to give me a smile, looking over at the corner of the room with a threatening glare. Did he see things too?

"I'm… I'm Sam. Nice to meet you Emily." I crept forward again when he suddenly grabbed his temples and cried out. The muscles of his arms tensed under his white shirt as he clawed at whatever was ringing I his ears. I jumped back, reminded of all the other screams I had heard that day. His cries drew the attention of several nurses and I ran in the opposite direction.

* * *

That evening I laid in bed trying to draw his face. No matter how clear the image in my mind, I couldn't put it on paper. The sounds of the night made my hands shake too much to try any longer. I hated sleeping in this place. I reached for my pile of pills in the cup and took a two, drifting off too sleep with the man named Sam on my mind.

* * *

I'm not sure what compelled me to stand outside his room again the next day. Maybe it was the pencils and paper I clutched close to me.

"Sam?" I spoke softly into the quiet room. The body on the bed rolled towards me, his eyes red and tired. He definitely hadn't been sleeping.

"Oh, it's you." He sat up and motioned me over with his hand. I watched the dingy floor tiles pass under my feet as I walked towards him. "I'm sorry if I scared you yesterday." His eyes flicked to a corner of the room repeatedly but I decided to ignore it. The width of his chest was so impressive that I still felt small when he was sitting down. I stood in front of him for a while and just stared. My social graces were a little rusty. When he clenched his eyes shut and mumbled to the voices, I just waited for it to pass.

"You don't scare me." I said the words like they didn't require an explanation and retrieved the art supplies from under my arm. "I'd like to draw you." He furrowed his eyebrows but smiled, shrugged, and patted the bed by his side. I plopped down and spread out my three pencils and my sketchbook. "Well, you aren't scared of me." I mumbled, a late explanation for what I said before. He chuckled before another fit made him clench his jaw and snarl. I wish you could see that in my drawing, the way he slipped into torment. It would make you feel thankful.

"You aren't scary. I've seen some pretty terrible things." His forehead was constantly wrinkled with despair but he still spoke softly. I began outlining his strong cheekbones.

"I can tell." He cocked his head at me, part of his hair falling from behind one ear. "It's your eyes." I didn't look up from my paper for a while and he seemed content to watch me work. Then a familiar voice called from the hallway.

"Emily, where are you?" My eyes widened and I looked up at Sam quickly.

"I have to go! Bertha." I grabbed my things and raced out the door, my hair tossing left to right behind me as I ran. I looked back just as Sam was shaking his head in amusement.

He spoke to some invisible companion. "I don't know, I think I like her."

* * *

Staring at my half finished picture was maddening. I wanted to make it whole but I needed to see him again before I changed anything. I sorted through my sheets frantically, counting my pencils over and over.

"One, two…" My last one was missing and it was my favorite. A voice from my door made me jump.

"Are you looking for this?" A scruffy face was standing there, pencil outstretched towards me. I smiled and retrieved the offering. He must have caught me studying his bandaged hand. "Oh it's nothing, really." He squeezed his palm nervously, as if to show me that it didn't hurt. I could tell he was lying. "Will you finish it tomorrow- the picture I mean?" He gestured towards the open book on my bed. Its cream pages were illuminated by the moonlight outside my window, and I felt bad that he didn't have a window too. Maybe he'd like to sit near one.

"Want to finish it now?" He raised his eyebrows in amusement, it was a nice change. I felt my cheeks getting a bit flush when he didn't respond. Thankful the pink stand out on my sun kissed skin. For once I was glad I wasn't pure American, "It's just, the lighting is really good for drawing…" Before I could explain further he walked past me to the window. I watched as he looked outside longingly, his bandaged hand resting on the cold glass. When he removed it a large print stayed from his warmth. Everything about him was so counterintuitive. He was tormented and kind, massive and gentle. He looked down and his eyes widened.

"Think you've missed a few doses?" He poked his finger at the cup of colorful pills and I laughed, settling down beside him. "I don't need them." Something about his face made me think he understood the feeling. I began to sketch him again as he admired the view, and I admired mine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy anniversary AKF! Today has made it one year since AKF came about and thirteen since Jared's dog, I may or may not be refilling the lake near our house with my tears after Jared's live stream,**

"So you talk the devil?" I was sitting cross-legged on Sam's bed and scribbling purposefully. Two days later and I was still perfecting his portrait. Something about it haunted me in my sleep, pulling me back to make changes here and there. He scrunched his nose a little,

"You're pretty direct, but to answer your question, he talks to me." I could tell he didn't mind my candor, even if he mentioned it. I had gotten so used to Sam's sporadic pain and yells that they didn't make me jump anymore. "But, it's hard not to talk back to him, when he's making my life a living hell." I stared into his eyes. How could I put all that emotion into one little drawing? Maybe he was just too much for my page. I signed and laid back onto 'my' half of the bed, examining his ceiling and comparing it to mine. He seemed relaxed by my causal behavior, even closing his eyes peacefully for a moment.

"When you talk to me, is he still there?" Sam nodded and looked in the direction of his imaginary devil.

"Although talking helps," He added, leaning over to examine my work. I pushed him away and covered the page with my small hands.

"Not yet! I'm not finished." His smile was so soft and pure. I thought he might pull it from my grasp but he relaxed again, little twinges of pain in his lips. One thing this place did offer was time. It was easily lost track of here, and sometimes I found that we spent lazy hours just sitting together and enjoying the company. He was peaceful, despite his madness. I fact I was beginning to wonder if he was really mad at all.

"Emily?" Sam broke my thought by tapping a finger on my forehead. I looked at him to show I was listening. "How did you- how did you get here?" I sighed. I knew this question was coming sooner or later, it always does. I stared up blankly, images of the past spreading across my vision.

"I had a brother." The words were difficult to form. Sam leaned closer to me and played with the bandage on his palm. "One day he came home, and it just wasn't him. He tried to hurt me, Sam," I paused for my own benefit, not his. "And I knew it wasn't him, no matter what everyone says. We fought, but he was going to kill me, Sam. He said so many horrible things about what he would do… so I stabbed him." Sam's eyes were wide but I didn't want to look at him. I didn't want to see anything but the white ceiling above me, the canvas to my bloody memories. "He didn't die, he actually laughed at me. Next thing I knew I was unconscious and when I woke up he was gone." I shivered at the thought of his face. "The police say I killed him, even though they couldn't find his body. I had his blood all over me… They decided there was no way he survived." I lifted my hands to my face to relive the experience. I could still see the red stuck in my fingernails. "I told them that it wasn't him, I said that he was some kind of monster, but they didn't believe me. They think I'm crazy." I was grateful that Sam didn't interrupt my story. "Do you think I'm crazy?" I rolled onto my side and looked at him. His eyes were still dark, but with sadness instead of pain. He reached out a hand and placed it on my own carefully. His rough fingers drew little circles on the back of mine.

"I'm so sorry." I frowned at him.

"You didn't answer my question. Maybe I am crazy… I can still see his black eyes sometimes." Sam's hand stopped moving and he crinkled his brow.

"Did you say, black eyes?" I nodded and explained how my brothers eyes had become completely onyx when he attacked me. The police had explained that was a product of my psychotic break. Sam squeezed my fingers suddenly, an out of place grin on his face. "You're not crazy." I shrugged and stared down at our hands.

"Uh, thanks, I guess." He was acting a little strange, or more strange than usual.

"No, well I mean, I know what happened to you, to your brother. And if- no, when. When I get out of here, I'll find him and clear your name."  
My head was still swimming after Sam's long explanation about demons and possession. He sounded completely insane, talking about hunters, angels, and something called a leviathan. But, I knew crazy, and his eyes were completely sincere. Either he truly believed a bunch of nonsense or he was telling me the truth. "Look, Emily, I don't expect you to believe me, but I have no reason to lie about this. Trust me, if that demon is still in your brother, I can exorcise him. Then I can prove he's not dead, and they will have no choice but to free you." He bit back another snarl. Obviously, the voices in his head didn't care for his plan or the hope he was giving me. Even if this was just the babble of a madman, it was the babble of a madman who cared about me. That was more than I could say for most. I removed my hand from his to turn my sketch pad in his direction.

"It's done." He studied it, a pleased smile on his face. Though, the longer he looked the faster it faded into sadness. "Do you not like it?" My voice squeaked with panic. He shook his head and patted my arm.

"No, it's amazing. You're an artist… I just haven't seen what I look like in a long time…" He scratched the scruffy hair on his chin and knit his eyebrows in confusion. He then rubbed at the circles under his eyes. "I look awful. You could have given me a facelift." His sad grin couldn't hide his disappointment. I never thought about what he must have looked like before this. I raised the picture in front of him and placed a gentle hand on it.

"There's nothing wrong with this, or this." I moved my hand to his jaw and rested it there. "Every feature of this face tells me stories about who you are and the weight you carry. Yes, there's darkness, but it makes your light shine so much brighter. Your eyes, they give out so much hope. And although it may seem odd, the suffering on your face frames your kindness. You are so much more kind because you are weary. You are undeniably better, because of the wrong you endure." His mouth fell open a little at my words and his eyes fell shut with a little shudder. I wondered if he might cry, but he just pressed my little cold hand tighter against his cheek and sat there. After a while he returned to me, his mouth struggling to form a response. I shook my head and rubbed a thumb across his stubble. "It's okay, you don't have to say anything." We stared at each other in content silence, his hand still gripping mine. "And thank you for listening to me, for believing me."

* * *

Then it happened, he was gone. I had planned on giving him the picture I drew as a gift and wandered to his room. When I stuck my head inside to call his name, my heart stopped beating. The sheets had been taken from the bed and the pillow removed. "Sam?"

I ran inside and searched around for any sign that he had been there. Bertha came to stand in the doorway and watch my panic.

"Honey, slow down." She had that same piteous smile, but I didn't want pity I wanted Sam. I grabbed at his bed and looked for anything of his. "He's gone, baby girl." My head snapped up and I stared into the nurses face like she had just shot me through the heart. "He got released. He's gone." My breathing started to get faster than I could control and I sat down on the bed like I had done so many times before.

"No… No! He can't be…" I could still smell him here, still see him sitting beside me. Tears stung my eyes and I clutched his picture to my chest. "He didn't say goodbye, I didn't get to say goodbye." Bertha came to my side and put her arms around me. I sobbed uncontrollably for the first time in months, all the emotions I had lacked were pouring out in my manic cries. He was a ray of joy in this place, a safe haven for me to reside in. When I finally had no tears left, Bertha led me back to my room. I kept looking back at his old bed, afraid of forgetting its smell. I cried again when I saw my window, and I believed Bertha thought I was insane when I pressed my hand against the glass where Sam had before. I began breaking my pencils before she took them away and held me tightly.

"Shh, it's okay. Let me tell you something sweetie." She smoothed my hair in a motherly gesture. "That boy, when the doctors came to get him, he begged them to let him see you. They wouldn't let him, said your mind was too fragile. He pleaded with them, even tried to break free once. I've never seen a man so possessed by desire." My mouth dropped open at her words and I tried to imagine the scene. Bertha's eyes were full of awe as she continued. "They had to drag him out of here while he screamed your name. You'd better believe he wanted to say goodbye."

I still have the picture of Sam on my wall. It's wrinkled from where my tears stained it, but it's my favorite sketch. I've never been prouder of capturing anyone's likeness before. I find myself studying it every day, maybe because I miss him or maybe because I'm terrified one morning I'll wake up and won't be able to remember his face. In it, I can still revel in his eyes and strong bone structure. I can still see the way he would smile at me despite his pain. I can still feel his hand on mine. Sometimes I feel like he was just a product of my lonely mind, but Bertha assures me that he was real as the air I breathe. My pile of pills is still growing because I'm not crazy, and, at least, one person out there believes me. I wonder if he's really 'hunting' my brother and if he's really coming back for me. Or maybe, to him, I was just a crazy girl who could draw well. Regardless, I hope he hasn't forgotten me in this place because I'll never let this place forget him.

I'm counting the days till he's back to me, praying it's before I lose whatever sanity I have left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys, so here we are, final chapter, thanks to everyone who followed and faved, I hope you guys enjoy, please remember to R &R**

 **3rd Person POV**

"You don't understand, I need to see her." The secretary flinched as Sam's fist slammed down onto the counter. His chin was now shaven and the dark circles no longer under his eyes, but a bit of insanity still lingered in him. The commotion caught the attention of a nurse, Bertha poked her head around the corner.

"You'd better keep it down before-" her jaw fell open at the sight of the tall man before her. "It's you-Sam?" She sprang forward and grabbed Sam's arm, her eyes bright with recollection. "You came back, I knew you would. It's okay Joan, he's a friend of mine. Let's go." Before Sam had a chance to agree he was being dragged down the corridor. The familiar smells of cleaning supplies and medication assaulted his senses. "I'm so glad you finally came back, I just hope it's not too late…" The came to stop in front of a door that Sam knew too well. He reached out to push it open before Bertha's hand stopped him. "Wait." She stepped between him and the room. "You need to understand, it's been a long time. Emily's… different." Sam's breathing picked up speed and he grabbed the door knob. "She waited for so long, Sam. Things started to be too much for her. I told her you were coming, but-" Sam gently nudged Bertha to the side before her hand grabbed his tense arm. "Just, be easy on her." Her eyes were heavy with sadness that made Sam's stomach churn. He took in a ragged breath and swung the door open.

* * *

 **Emily's POV**

I was staring down at my hands when the door flew open, the scattered papers on the floor blowing to all corners of my room. Pictures of nameless creatures and the resembled of dreams were scribbled on each. I was too busy studying the graphite on my fingers to look up at whoever came in. I struggled to focus my vision. The drugs in my system made it seem like I was looking through a foggy window, which made drawing even harder.

"Emily." Someone said my name and I looked around. A large man was standing there, stone still. I flinched and backed against the window slowly, unable to discern who he was.

"Who are you?" I blinked back the clouds in my eyes. He sighed and crept closer. "Bertha! Come help!" I whined, confused and scared. The man stopped and Bertha came to my side.

"Honey, it's alright. You don't remember him?" She combed my disheveled hair out of my face lovingly. I stared at the figure steadily until I could make out his features. He seemed vaguely familiar, like a distant memory that I couldn't form. I shook my head. The man appeared wounded by my rejection and took a sketch off the wall. He brought it to me slowly, his other hand lifted up in a gesture of submission.

"Look at this, you drew this." I cautiously examined the yellowed paper. It was the image of a man with long hair and hurt eyes, much like the one in front of me. Little flickers of the past made my head swim with confusion. I squeezed me eyes together in denial.

"I… I need more medicine, Bertha." My nurse only shook her head, casting a forlorn glance at the stranger. After giving me another pill to calm my nerves, Bertha pulled him aside and spoke quietly. I could still hear their exchange as I drifted to sleep.

"She's been this way for months. She's just unraveling Sam, slowly slipping further out of reality. I'm not sure if she's ready for you to take her, but we don't have another choice. It's going with you or staying here, and she won't last here much longer."

* * *

 **3rd Person POV**

"Sam, I don't know man…" Dean stared into the living room at the occupied chair. "She's not really, all there." Sam shot him a glare and paced around in the kitchen. He squeezed his palm repeatedly out of habit.

"She's not crazy Dean, she was wrongly accused. She just needs some time." Sam desperately wanted to believe his own words. He had spent months tracking down Emily's brother. Once he was exorcised the real battle was working out the legal matters, in which his Stanford studies came in handy. He just hoped he wasn't too late. Dean watched his face twist with regrets and worry.

"Maybe you need to accept this is out of your control. Not everyone can handle what we can." Sam gripped the back of a chair with all the pressure it would handle. He looked just as tormented as he had in the asylum. He watched the lost looking girl in the living room. He could still see the way she used to climb up onto his bed, fearless and open. He could still feel her little hands on his face. This girl wasn't anything like that.

 **Emily's POV**

My senses were starting to grow clearer as time went on, but my head still ached and I wanted more pills. I could hear people talking in the kitchen and I searched for anything familiar. Things were too colorful here, too varying and wild. A hand on my arm made me jump up, the chair underneath me tumbling with a clatter.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm sorry for startling you." The man was standing close, his concerned eyes looking into mine. I should have been afraid, but my instinct was to lean towards him and not away. He smelled of warmth, like a weird yet comforting mixture cinnamon and sandal wood. "I brought you something." He pushed a brown bag towards me, a soft smile on his lips. When I didn't respond he opened it himself. Inside was a leather-bound sketchbook and a set of charcoal pencils. A gasp escaped my lips. My interest made him smile wider and he called me towards him with his outstretched hand. Something about the way he looked at me made me feel sad. I crept forward and took the objects like they were priceless because to me they were. My hand brushed his slightly and I could tell he was trying not to spook me.

"Thank you," I mumbled, returning quickly to my overturned seat.

* * *

Every day the two men would leave for what they called 'hunting' and I would stay at the house. Sam would carefully set up my sketching supplies and cater to my every need, combing my hair and making me coffee. I didn't want help, but I need it. Some days I just couldn't fight through the great heaviness in my heart. It was so hard not being able to remember. Sam would bring me home little trinkets from their trips, mostly art supplies, and books.

"Are you sure you have everything you need?" Sam was pulling my hair up into a messy bun and gathering his things. I nodded quietly. "Okay, if you need anything you call me, right?" He put the phone down next to my sketchbook, concern written over his face. When I didn't respond he knelt beside me, his hand close to my shoulder. He treated me like a china doll, never touching me more than necessary. And because of that, I felt safe. "Emily, do you want me to stay home today? Dean can-" I lifted my hand to his face gently, letting it rest on the curve of his jaw. His skin was soft and comforting under my fingertips.

"No, I'm fine. Really. Go Sam." I wasn't sure who he was to me, but this felt like the right thing to do. I smiled and patted his cheek before returning to my drawing. He didn't get off his knees for a long time, my action leaving him speechless. When he finally exhaled it came out strangled and weak. I could have sworn a little tear glistened in his eye as he stood to leave.

Sam frequently slept on the couch so that he would be closer to my room. Some nights I would wake up screaming or in tears, and he was always there by my side before I knew who's name to call. I walked over to the couch and laid on it the way he would, wondering if it was as uncomfortable as it seemed. A little rectangle pressed against my back and I retrieved a journal from underneath me. Sam's initials were printed across the front in a wide cursive script. I ran my fingers along the pages with curiosity, intrigued by the way they fluttered. Before I knew what I was doing I was reading one of the most recent entries.

" _06/03/2016_

 _I don't know how much longer I can do this, it's killing me. Today Emily touched me like she remembered, but she didn't know what she was doing. I just wanted to hold her in my arms. Dean's worried that I won't be able to hunt effectively with her at home. He says I'm just torturing myself for what I did. Maybe he's right, but she doesn't have anyone else. Her brother died in the exorcism, I couldn't save him_." The page began to shake in my hands. " _She's my responsibility. Dean will have to understand that. She never was crazy, and she isn't now. This will pass. Keeping her off her medication has been hard, I think her nightmares are withdrawals. But she's been getting more aware every day. I just have to have faith in her, like she had faith in me… I let her down. God, I wish I had gotten there sooner. If only…"_

Tears were sliding down my nose and shattering on the paper, smudging the blue ink. I was getting flashes of my memory back, overtaken by emotions and sensations from the events I was reliving. I remembered those months I spent alone, every morning hoping it would be the day he came back for me. I tried so hard to never give up hope, but that place chipped away at my mind. Eventually, I went through stages of sadness and anger, sure that Sam had forgotten me. One day I just woke up and knew he wasn't real. I told myself that he was a figment of my broken understanding, and I took the medication. I took so many pills until I couldn't even remember what he looked like. Till his picture couldn't even bring a tear to my eye. I shuddered with recollection, suddenly unable to bear the weight that I had shielded myself from.

"We're home." Sam sighed as he opened the door and carried his gear into the kitchen. Their hunt had been successful, but one more life had been lost. His thoughts were still on work when movement in the corner of his eye startled him. I was standing in the middle of the room, my cheeks wet with tears and a foreign smile on my face. "Oh my god, Emily, what happened?" He dropped his bags to the floor. Before he could move, I raced in his direction and threw my arms around his neck. He was stunned, unable to react. I buried my face in his chest and sobbed, my hands tugging him as close as I could manage.

"I remember, Sam! I remember!" For a moment, he could do nothing but process my words. Finally, a relieved whimper came from his lips, like the last breath of a dying man. He let out a relieved breath as if he was holding it since he brought me home with him, his arms slowly crept around my waist, as if waiting for approval, I clutched his neck a bit tighter as he breathed raggedly, tightening his arms around me, clutching me to himself. His arms encompassed me and he kissed my forehead with shaky lips. My crying was mixed with hysteric laughter and hiccups, "I knew you'd come back for me." I repeated his praises over and over as he nestled me into his embrace, peppering kisses over my face like a puppy who had been reunited with its owner. He was still so gentle, even in his fervor.

"And I knew you would come back to me here." We cried and laughed together like madmen while Dean watched from the doorway, a crooked smile on his face.

* * *

I still stay in that bunker with the Winchesters, but things are much different. Now I care for Sam just as much as he cares for me. He still treats me like some fragile little thing, but he doesn't hold back from touching me anymore. Now I crawl into his bed like before and beg him to let me draw his face constantly. I love to see how it comes out differently every time, as I discover a new part of him daily. I'm not sure if we were initially drawn to each other because we were both sane, or because we were really both crazy, but that doesn't matter anymore.

At the end of the day, it was worth all the pain. It was worth losing our minds to gain each other.

* * *

 **That's it, I hope you guys enjoyed, please R &R**


End file.
